If you’re looking for this restaurant by reading the words printed on the awnings of Division Street, you’ll need to know Cantonese: “Kiki’s Greek Tavern” is written only in Chinese characters. Olive green doors and stone walls on the eatery’s interior are a better tell, and are touches that suit the Mediterranean cuisine of Kiki’s well. The restaurant’s Greek cuisine is straightforward and delicious, so whether you order seafood, lamb, or salad, you really can’t go wrong.

From Wally's cafe to Wall.E to a green wall. When you arrive in NYC you immediately mention a difference in concentration when it comes to conversations. Iphone's go always before listening to people. There is nothing to do anything about this anymore but it is a little fact. I Like to cycle and walk around in the neighborhood and mention this beautiful wall with the 2 oval light spots arisen on it. This magical light spots are constantly popp'n up on all different walls in NYC. Open your eyes: Let's stare at the wall. Just as long as something starts happening.

I took this image looking straight up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling which is decorated with constellations. The more prominent stars are lit up by LEDs. This space is one of the most magical in the city. According to legend, the sky was intentionally inverted to show how it would appear from God’s point of view from beyond the celestial sphere.

It starts when a friend implores you to eat downstairs at La Esquina, the subterranean brasserie branch of Derek Sanders's Mexican axis of Kenmare Street. The food’s cheaper and probably better at the walk-in-only cafe around the corner from the restaurant’s entrance—a door disguised by a taqueria counter and a sign that reads “Employees Only”—but there’s a certain category of New Yorker who thrives on having what others don’t. A reservationist will ask you if you’ve “dined with us before,” and in general, it takes knowing someone in the industry, smooth talking, or (velvet-rope flashback) looking good and confident at the door, to waltz in at prime time. The reward is dining in a Mexican dungeon as styled for a Vogue shoot, complete with metalwork, distressed stone walls, and water dripping on the back of your neck (though the owners can probably thank the air conditioner for the added atmospherics). Making up the grinning crowd at secluded booths and in private cells (?): a healthy mix of models, cougars, and maybe John Mayer picking his way through red snapper ceviche, cauliflower and avocado taquitos, grilled octopus tostados, or a plate of tuna tartare with a tamarind glaze. If the food sounds light, you’re right; it’s playing to the delicious crowd.  This is, what "The New Yorker" wrote about this fantastic place!

Paris in Brooklyn, etc. I have to try hard not to say 'Garçon.' But either way, 'monsieur' would be more appropriate; proper French waitstaff, proper French food.